Doctor, Doctor
by IceEckos12
Summary: Did you know that the nations need personal doctors? Yes, they do! Follow our nations as they discover their doctors, get beaten up by old school mates, and have their vodka access restricted!  kolkolkolkolkolkolkolkolkol...


**Hey, my homies! Yeah, me again. **

**New York: Hey, wassup!**

**Eckos12: ! What are you doing here New York? This isn't your story!**

**New York: So? F**k that! **

**Pennsylvania: New York! No swearing! *Slap* *Crash* *Bang***

**Hawaii: Lassa, what does that word mean?**

**Alaska:... *Radiates evil aura***

**Rhode Island: Quit fighting. Eckos-chan doesn't own Hetalia. Hey, get back here New Jersey!**

The first time Archer F. Bones met Alfred F. Jones, he thought he'd walked into a dream.

Archer had potential to become a great star of the medical world. He had made himself famous in his community for his ability to fix almost any injury that came his way, and several of his neighbors owed Archer their livers after running into animals in the nearby woods. Now, one could never tell they had been seconds away from dying.

The problem was that he refused to work outside the town he'd been born in, which was unfortunate—it had a population of 10,000 hardworking people. While he yearned for bigger cities, grander adventures, and more good work, he abhorred the thought of being well-known.

"Fame?" he often scoffed. "How am I supposed to get any rest at all with people showing up all hours of the night?" So, he satisfied himself with being famous in his little town. At least, that was what he told himself-he was not satisfied at all.

So, Archer F. Bones was shocked when a young man burst through his door and shouted, "Hey! Be my personal doctor!"

The man was one strange bird—he looked about nineteen, but had the eyes of someone who'd seen more than his share of bad things. There was a certain intelligence—if one looked hard enough-behind the general cluelessness that resided in his bright blue eyes. In the future, Archer would often ask himself whether or not that had just been an illusion caused by the madness of the scene. In his heart of hearts, however, he'd always come back to feeling that Alfred was a lot smarter than he looked.

Alfred was wearing a white t-shirt under an old, beat-up bomber jacket that looked like it'd been through hell. His jeans were loose and ripped, with mud-splattered once-white shoes that looked a size or two too small. The man's gleaming-blond hair was messy and wild, with an odd cowlick sticking up in the front. The things that caught Archer's attention the most were his eyes—they were bright, happy, and sparkling; irises so blue they put the sky to shame.

Of course, this was all noted unconsciously, because Archer was still recovering from the shock of having his house invaded. After a moment, he removed his glasses, smoothed his hair, and asked, "Pardon?"

The man laughed; it was a crazy laugh that Archer suspected would've sounded hysterical if it had come out of another person. For this boy however, it was unnervingly natural.

"_I said_, do you want to be my personal doc, doc?" This seemed immensely amusing to the boy, as he started cracking up. "Doc," He laughed, wiping away a tear. "What's up, Doc?" This sent him into more peals of laughter.

Archer stared at him with a hint of incredulity. _The hell?_ he wondered, somehow managing to keep his professional appearance. _Well, maybe he wants me to monitor his mental health… _

"I'm sorry, sir. Who are you?"

The boy didn't even bother trying to stop laughing. He just sat flopped over on the floor, slapping the ground weakly. His breath began coming in deep, heavy rasps, but he still laughed. Finally, he just air-laughed, not even having the strength to add his voice. For a moment Archer was afraid the poor guy was going to pass out, but he got another shock when the man jerked up, breathing normally and looking just as perky as before.

The man's eyes roamed the room wildly for a moment before settling on Archer, and they brightened even more, if that was possible.

"Hi!" He chirped, extending a hand. "My name's Alfred! Alfred F. Jones!"

Archer nodded, thinking how much the name fit. The man—Alfred—just _sounded_ American. He didn't have any identifiable regional accent. He just sounded pure _American. _Hell, he looked American. A free expression, with a flame burning brightly in his eyes—this boy was most certainly 100% American.

"My name is—"

"I know! It's _Archer F. Bones!" _

Archer blinked his surprise, barely noticing the firm handshake. He withdrew his hand curiously and somewhat cautiously. Archer knew for a fact he wasn't well known; he was only famous to the people who knew exactly how talented he was. He'd managed to convince them to hide it—he would never get any rest if that happened.

"Um…" was all Archer could say.

Alfred must have noticed the confusion, because he grinned widely and chirped, "I heard about you from a colleague! I told him I was looking for a personal doctor, and he said he might know of one. He recommended a few names, but I chose you!" Alfred practically squealed. Archer couldn't help marveling how much he sounded like a teenage girl.

"I beg your pardon, but why did you choose me? I'm not a well-known doctor, surely…" Alfred cut him off rudely.

"Isn't it obvious?" He blinked when Archer hesitantly shook his head. "Our names have the same number of letters in them!" he shouted.

Archer blinked. He hadn't noticed that, but he was too focused on the current happenings in his office to really think about anything else.

"…and both our names start with A, and our last names rhyme!" Alfred held up a finger, grinning widely. He tended to do that a lot, Archer noticed.

And lastly, your last name is Bones and your first name's Archer!" Archer couldn't help the confusion showing on his face. Honestly, he didn't see what was so special about his last name being 'Bones' and his first name being 'Archer'. In fact, he always thought his name was less then desirable—who names their kid "Archer"?

Alfred literally gasped in shock. "You know, Star Trek?" he asked pleadingly, leaning forward. "Bones? McCoy? You know, the doctor on the ship? The goddamn _Enterprise?"_

Archer shook his head helplessly.

Alfred laughed hysterically. Once again, the good doctor couldn't help questioning the young man's mental health. "Oh, sorry, you must've seen a different series. Enterprise?" Archer shook his head.

"Voyager?"

That was a no.

"Deep Space Nine?"

A shrug.

"The Next Generation?"

"I'm sorry, no…"

"The Animated Series? Any of the movies? Please, god dammit, say you've seen something!"

"I'm sorry… I've never watched Star Trek."

Alfred stared at him, tears beginning to form in the bottoms of his bright, blue, horrified eyes. "You don't know." He shook his head. "You don't fucking know anything."

Archer frowned, feeling awful. Honestly, he'd grown up in a poor family, and they had barely been able to afford their next meal most days, let alone a TV. He'd never been able to join in the conversations of the other boys, speaking ecstatically about their favorite TV shows, wondering what would happen next…and if he couldn't join the conversations, he'd leave. Soon it was just him and his books, and that was how he had learned as much as he had. After working his ass off for a scholarship and working even harder in a university with student loans up to his eyeballs, almost anyone would consider him one of the best doctors out there. Now, of course, he had more than enough money for a T.V., but he only really used it to watch the news.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Jones—"

"Alfred." The boy sniffled, "Just call me Alfred."

"I'm sorry, Alfred, but why do you need a personal doctor?" Alfred was silent for a moment, then fixed Archer with a hard stare and said, "Fuck this. You have had a deprived childhood, Archie. I can take care of crap like this later, but this is practically a monumental crisis!" He shook his head in shock. "Someone with the last name Bones… Never seen something so…"

Alfred whipped out a package of DVDS. "I keep an emergency series on me at all times. You're lucky I chose the Original Series. You get to see your namesake! Slumber party!" he cheered, then paused. After a moment he sighed. "Aw, dammit. If I'd known I would've called Feliks…"

And that was how Archer F. Bones met Alfred F. Jones. That was also how Archer F. Bones had his first slumber party.

* * *

"…and I had this colleague called Jim. And we were working together and stuff. One day we were working on a patient and _he died." _Alfred gasped, despite Archer's humorous face. "And you know what I said?" The man blinked innocently at Archer. "No! What'd you say?" Archer glanced around in mock suspicion, then beckoned Alfred in. "I said: He's dead, Jim."

The two burst into peals of laughter, shaking and turning red from the lack of air. Archer held his side, and took another slurp from his wineglass. At first he'd been against the use of alcohol; it had so many consequences. Because of this, Archer had just decided to save himself the trouble of an early alcohol-induced death and hid his wine away in the cupboards to give to friends. However, he had almost no friends, and the ones he did have were the ones who gave him the wine- he couldn't just gift it back! However, Alfred had convinced him to give it a try, and now they were cracking up and telling Star Trek jokes.

"I knew I'd convert you!" Alfred said, flashing him a blinding smile. Archer gave him a tentative smile back—the young doctor had always been an extreme introvert, and Alfred was an extreme extrovert—and no one had ever been able to get him to talk like Alfred was doing.

"I'm glad you did." Archer said happily. "I _did _have a deprived childhood. I had no idea what I was missing!"

It was exactly 6 in the morning, but Archer didn't worry. He could always be reached on his cell phone if someone _really _gothurt. Besides, he was drunk and really didn't care, as mean as that sounded. He turned towards Alfred. "So, you said something about a personal doctor?"

Instantly Alfred blinked, obviously not expecting the sudden change in topic. For a moment, he looked almost disappointed, and Archer was worried he'd made a mistake; he hadn't had much experience in social matters. He spoke with dead people much better than live people. Corpses tended to listen and not interrupt, and he had always appreciated that fact. Archer braced himself for chastisement.

Instead, Alfred put down his wine glass with a _clink! _and said,

"Yeah, I did say something about that, didn't I?" His attitude changed; he became more somber and businesslike, a far cry from his bubbly mood from a moment before. "See… I need a personal doctor. It's not that I don't like hospitals, it's just I need a doctor I can count on. The pay is good, and if you don't have a place to stay you can get a room in my house in D.C…" Alfred trailed off.

"But…why do you need a personal doctor?" Archer was curious. It was obvious this young man was hiding something, and the doctor had a feeling it was mighty important.

"If I say tell you, you have to _swear _to be my doctor, no matter else happens. Name your price, whatever, but I need you to swear. This is…" He cocked his head, almost as though he was searching for the right words. "…kind of a government secret. Like, uber-top secret?" He laughed then, though it was more of an attempt than anything else. "I need to be able to trust you, Bones." This time, it wasn't so much a "funny" joke as an attempt at camaraderie.

Archer considered this for a moment. "If I say yes, how much is the pay?"

"A lot. You can name the price, if you like. Anything. Well, within reason, but for me, that's still a big range."

"And can I quit later on? Or is the government going to… I don't know, hold me hostage or something?"

Alfred actually burst out laughing at that one. "Oh no, nothing like that! We might just take your memories. Nothing so drastic. So yeah… you can quit."

Archer was silent for a long moment, disregarding the comment about the memories, as that was _obviously_ another joke. On one hand, this could be his big break. It was his chance to see the world, to _have _great adventures; to do what he'd always wanted to do… it was like a dream come true. Maybe he'd meet someone really important, like the president! Who knows what he'd get to see? Maybe, if Alfred was of a high enough rank, he could be able to procure some of the most advanced medical documents in the nation for his doctor!

On the other hand, Alfred seemed like the kind of person to brag a lot. The man seemed strong enough not to crack under pressure or torture, but it'd probably take 5 seconds for him to start spewing nonsense on his "new, awesome doctor!"—that sounded exactly like something the boy-man would the paparazzi heard about this "Alfred's" new doctor…Archer didn't even want to think about it.

"If I become your new doctor…" he said slowly, trying to make sure Alfred understood. "…will you keep it under wraps? I really don't want the press or anything else talking about me. I hate publicity, and if you're as important as you say you are…" Archer hesitated at the look on Alfred's face. It wasn't a who-wouldn't-like-publicity-look, it was a have-you-grown-an-extra-head-or-two-look.

"You goof!" Alfred laughed loudly, shocking the doctor. "I'm a secret, see? The press doesn't even know I exist!" He hissed the last part, smirking wildly.

Archer blinked, shaking off the shock of Alfred's manhandling.

"What do you mean?" he asked. He'd heard that some _secrets_ were kept tightly under wraps by Uncle Sam, but never _people._ "I thought you were some famous government official!"

Alfred laughed. "If I were a famous Government official, you would've heard of me, doof!" Archer blushed and quickly looked away. "Naw, I'm important, but only people high up on the totem pole know about me."

The doctor cocked his head and blinked again in surprise. If _this _was a Government secret…why the heck was he so loud! Then, another thought occurred to him. "If you're such a big secret, then why are you telling me this? Why are you even _here?" _

The man sighed impatiently. "Because I need a goddamn personal doctor! Isn't that what I said in the first place?"

Again Archer felt quite a bit of his blood rushing to his face. This man was managing to be condescending without even trying! At first Archer had felt that Alfred was a happy-go-lucky guy, with absolutely no brain—harmless enough-but now he was just giving the doctor a migraine!

And yet…Alfred intrigued him. Everything Alfred was saying made him want to know, made the secret that the mysterious man kept all the more tempting. And, honestly… Alfred was his first "friend"—and Archer was 29. It was kind of sad, but he couldn't just leave Alfred now that he'd been shoved so unceremoniously into this live-wire's life. He was involved in this now, whether he liked it or not.

"All right, Alfred… I accept your offer." Archer said seriously and quietly, setting his wine glass down and folding his hands. "So, explain to me what I'm getting myself into."

Alfred blinked, and then let out a wild, excited "Whoop!" After that, he began babbling excitedly.

"First we have to take care of all those official matters and crap. I don't like 'em, but Mattie insists I have to."

The two worked on "official matters" for about a half an hour, giggling over some things and only taking a few seriously. They had a bit of an argument over the pay; Archer kept naming prices that Alfred insisted were "too low". Only when Archer chose a price that was well above what he earned each year did Alfred finally seem satisfied. "Take advantage of every advantage!" Alfred had shouted. "First thing you need to know about politics!"

Archer found himself feeling muddled and confused all the way through, which was yet another new experience for him. While he was open to new experiences, some new experiences were less than pleasant, and this was certainly one of them. While he usually had to "dumb down" many medical terms, now Alfred was having to "dumb things down" for him. It made him feel very, very ignorant. When he confided this to the bright, peppy man in front of him, Alfred had laughed and said, "Don't worry, I didn't get it at first either! When you're my age, you've had enough experience with this sort of thing to last a few lifetimes." When Archer asked what he meant, Alfred had just laughed him off with a wave.

Finally, the ordeal was over. The prices were set, the guidelines were all fixed-everything was ready. "Is that all? No lawyers?"

"Naw, not with me! Everything's all taken care of. My boss says I have to choose someone I can trust, and you fit the bill!"

Archer glanced at him in surprise.

"I barely know you! We just met today! You don't trust me…" Archer protested. Alfred gave him a silencing look.

"Listen," he admonished, "It's true that I've just heard of you the other day, and that I didn't do much research on your background—I just learned that you were a doctor who graduated at the top in college. Apparently you worked hard to get that scholarship." Alfred smiled at Archer. "And I _do_ trust you. You're a hard worker and a good man. Believe me, I know." Alfred took a deep breath, and decided that now was the best time to tell him. "I know all my people…because I am the United States of America."

Considering the situation, Archer thought he was handling this very well. He stared at Alfred for a long moment, and then said, "Bullshit." in a calm voice.

Alfred crossed his arms like a fussy child. "Prove it!" he said.

Archer stuttered slightly, not expecting such an insistent rebuttal.

"Um… well…" he began. "It's simply too farfetched. You want me to believe you are the United States of America? Well, prove it. If _you _can prove to _me _that you're America, maybe I'll believe you."

Alfred huffed angrily.

"You want proof? You want _proof?"_ he demanded. Archer nodded. "You want proof… you want… proof?" he repeated, in a squeaky tone. Obviously, he had no material proof that he was the U.S. of America. America's birth certificate was in a top-security museum, and the scientists couldn't help with DNA evidence-they didn't know he existed. Being a secret was exhausting, Alfred decided.

Finally, he thought of something. It'd scare the shit out of Archer, but it'd prove just exactly how _American _he was. "All right!" he chirped. "I'm going to commit suicide to prove it to you!"

Archer leapt up, alarmed. He gasped when America pulled a gun out of his coat—_when the hell did he get that?—_and stuck it to his own head. There was only a moment's hesitation, the moment where Archer stumbled forward and Alfred paused, before a _bang! _rang out.

Alfred and Archer gasped simultaneously and stared at each other; Archer horrified and Alfred coldly accepting the event. After a full 10 minutes of silence, Archer began freaking out—he had been expecting to see Alfred slowly topple over much earlier on. Instead, the man just sighed and asked, "Can I have a hankie?"

"I believe you." Archer said quietly, startling Alfred out of his trance. They were in Archer's bathroom, with Alfred sitting on the toilet and Archer kneeling in front of him. Archer's tools were scattered on a towel next to him, some covered with blood and some still pristine, ready for use. There was a bloody towel next to Alfred-it was halfway soaked through. Archer's lips twisted into a smile. "Why would the U.S.A. need a personal doctor?" he muttered to himself.

Alfred cocked his head, let out a short burst of laughter (jarring the tool Archer was picking at the wound with) and said,

"Just because I can't get killed doesn't mean everything just fixes itself overnight!" he smirked, motioning to the wound. "Sometimes things will heal wrong, and I'll just have to deal with it until they drag some temp in to fix it—and they'd have to watch him for the rest of his natural life after that, for some wounds, anyway. It'd be a pain in the ass if someone sliced my head off. Luckily, that hasn't happened yet." Archer was still looking a bit doubtful. "You want proof?" Alfred asked softly.

"NO! I mean… no need to shoot yourself again." Archer blushed.

Alfred just shook his head and grinned widely. "No, nothing like that, stupid!" Archer glowered at the insult. "No, I'm just going to show you a few scars."

While Archer watched curiously, Alfred rolled up his pant leg.

Archer gasped and winced, recoiling a bit before leaning forward and examining the scar. It was a puncture wound for sure; it was a bit red, as though still slightly new. There were a few other puncture wounds on the same leg, and some similar puncture wounds on the other one. Smaller red scars peppered both legs, and Alfred couldn't help wincing as he remembered the occasion.

"September 11th, 2001." Archer looked up, eyes wide. "The twin towers. Those wounds are still quite sore, but they're healing."

"That must have been painful." Archer murmured, recalling how much patients screamed when limbs got shattered. He looked closer at the wounds "Your ankles have healed pretty well, but these superficial scars obviously weren't tended to much…" Alfred winced at the memory.

"Yeah. They were kind of more focused on the bones poking out…" Both were silent, Alfred reminiscing and Archer simply thinking. Then, as though snapped awake, America gently rolled his pant leg back down.

Archer began to put his tools away grimly. For now, the bullet wound would be all right alright. He didn't notice Alfred removing his shirt.

"…and Pearl Harbor." The doctor jumped and turned to face the nation, now missing his shirt. Alfred was indicating a large, faded scar on his shoulder…Archer gasped. Alfred was _covered _in scars; some more faded with others, some stretching long and deep, and some shallow but still there.

"Yo, Bones!" Archer slowly turned his attention back to Alfred's face. The nation was examining him worriedly, as though _he_ was the one covered with old scars.

"You have good muscle structure." Archer said simply, not willing to admit that the scars were his real perogative. Alfred bought it, giving him a wry smile.

"I've had centuries, buddy. Again, this is Pearl Harbor." He said, indicating the wound on his shoulder.

"What about that one?" Archer asked, pointing out an old but very deep scar on his chest. "That one was Gettysburg." Soon, Archer was getting a narration of every scar on America's body.

"And the rest of these," Alfred finished, gesturing to the rest of the scars, most of which were much smaller than the other battles he'd talked about, "…were either little battles or stuff people gave me." He smiled widely at Archer, obviously waiting for some sort of feedback. Archer opened his mouth to answer when he noticed the tip of a scar poking out from over his shoulder.

"What…?" Reluctantly, Alfred turned, allowing his new doctor to see the scar stretching across his back.

"What…?" Archer gasped, horrified. "What on earth?" It was an enormous scar stretching across all of his back, almost as though someone had been trying to hack him in half. The scar was deep; very deep. It was also wide, and looked like it'd taken a decent chunk out of the nation's back. Archer vaguely noticed Alfred shivering almost fearfully under his touch, but continued examining the faded scar.

"What…" Archer turned to America. "Who the hell did this?" Then, he paused, noticing Alfred's expression. He was pale and wide-eyed, shivering like a petrified lamb. Even the man's hair seemed to be scared; it flattened itself against Alfred's head and was actually shaking slightly as well. "Alfred…?" Archer asked. "Alfred!"

"_P-please don't…" Alfred had the appearance of a 5-year-old boy. His hair was almost unchanged, except it was softer and just a bit shorter. Alfred—America was in a corner, staring at the approaching figure of his host. _

_The man had a bottle in his hand and smelled strongly of rum; a sure sign that he'd been drinking again. Feeling the ache of many scars inflicted by that man, Alfred had the strong urge to run. He'd never remembered the name of this man; as soon as big-brother England had left, the man had turned on him and gave him the rules. "Don't touch my drink, follow my rules and you might get food." It had been a nightmare. It had _always _been a nightmare there. If he was the personification of the colonies, weren't his people supposed to like him?_

"_I'm sorry." Alfred whimpered, still grappling with the handle on the door. "I'm… I'm going now, I swear! Please don't… please don't hurt me!" He abandoned the door and began to sink slowly to the floor. The man ignored Alfred's pleas, still advancing. _

"_I never should've taken you in, brat." The man hissed. "You're just dead weight who eats my food and steals my money." _

"_I'm sorry!" Alfred was sobbing now, rocking back and forth on the floor. He was terrified; Alfred didn't feel like a hero anymore. Instead, he felt like the one in need of saving. Right now though, he really didn't mind that thought. What he wouldn't give for big-brother to come sweeping through the door, rapier in hand…_

_But that didn't happen._

"_I'm going to take care of you now, so you never steal from me again." The man had at some point gotten a knife, and brandished it threateningly. Alfred gasped, eyes wide with terror. He turned into the corner, hands up to protect his head, back open. _I'm going to die, _He thought despairingly. And then something occurred to him. _I'm not going to die. _Alfred realized numbly. I'm a colony, I can't die._

_All he remembered after that was screaming. Endless pain. Endless screaming._

_

* * *

_

_England whistled as he walked down the road, hugging a box full of toys. It had been a bit since he'd seen Alfred; England had decided to try something new and placed him with a colonist. Alfred hadn't seemed very happy with arrangement, but the colonist—was it William? -had assured him that everything was going to be taken care of. _

_Then, England paused quietly. He listened to the air curiously; there was a noise on the breeze. It was far away, but it must have been very loud. It took him a moment to realize it was screaming. It was a continuous noise that chilled him to the bone. For a second he considered checking it out, but the voice wavered and cut off. England was already late to see Alfred. Besides, it was none of his concern…_

_England continued down the path, still pondering the screaming noise he'd heard. He was only a few steps from the door when he realized something red and dark was pooling under the door, leaking across the stones… England gasped when he heard a thud, and threw the door open. _

_A small body tumbled out, and a knife embedded itself in the floor where the boy had been before. William followed close behind, tumbling out onto the doorway. First England stared at William; the man stared back at him fearfully, still on his position on the floor. Slowly England's gaze traveled to the small boy in front of him, As England stared, the boy looked up slowly and said, "E…En-England…?"_

_For Alfred, the world went black. For England, the world turned red._

It took a moment for Alfred to realize that he had been sobbing. That particular memory hadn't bothered him for years. The memory was a terrible one for both England and America. It reminded Alfred of a life of pain and fear, and England of a mistake that had cost Alfred his trust of people. Alfred didn't trust people as readily as he normally had after that, and England still blamed himself.

"I'm fine…" Alfred sniffled, rubbing his nose on his bare arm. "Just a bad memory."

Archer blinked and smiled sympathetically.

"You… want to talk about it?" He wanted to know what had affected the country so strongly; it was obvious that this was no small thing, as the country had probably seen a lot of things that Archer could only imagine. This particular memory was very traumatizing; maybe he'd witnessed the violent death of a loved one…?

Alfred shook his head, eyes covered slightly by his bangs.

"Okay." An awkward silence pervaded the room. Finally, Alfred rubbed the tears from his face, stretched cat-like, and said, "C'mon, I've got a plane to catch. Don't worry, I reserved you a seat! We get first class! Now we can finish those Star Trek episodes…" Alfred continued to babble on happily, and Archer couldn't help smiling at the peppy country. Whatever had been bothering him earlier was obviously tucked back into the corners of his mind or forgotten. Whatever it had been, now the American seemed none the worse for wear.

As Archer packed his bags, he went over the events of the day. 1. A crazy person had burst into his house without bothering to knock, claiming he needed a "personal doctor". 2. The crazy person had claimed that Archer had had a "deprived childhood" and made him watch as many episodes of Star Trek as they could in one night. 3. This crazy person had claimed that he was the United States of America, and had shot himself as proof. 4. Now he was heading over to D.C. as the crazy person's personal doctor, something he'd never intended to do in the first place. _What am I getting myself into…?_He wondered tiredly, but shook his head._ Whatever happens, _Archer concluded, _I'll know that I had enough guts to step out my front door and see the world…_

"Yo! Archer! C'mon, we're going to be late for the plane!" Archer jumped when he heard Alfred's—no, _America's _voice ringing through the hall. Archer hesitated for a second. Was this really what he wanted to do? What if… what if Alfred suddenly got dissatisfied with him and told him that he was just a small-town hick who had no right to be a doctor? Archer thought for a moment, and shook the thought off. Of course not. Alfred didn't seem like the kind of person to do that.

After that, Archer rushed out his door, bags in hand, running into the usual madness that would become his normal life.

**... I like making America shoot himself, don't I.**

**Alright, this one came from way out in left field. I just came up with it, wondering if the Nations had personal doctors. Actually, I'll be doing everyone else's doctor too. So you know, vote, majority rules. I already have an idea for Russia's doctor, but if you don't want me to do him next, I won't. **

**About the part where Alfred was abused as a child... I still haven't figured that part out either. **

**Anyway: Grazie, arigato, gracias, and any other thank-yous in the world. **

**~IceEckos12~**


End file.
